


RSVP, ASAP

by tawg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season Five-ish, pre-Wincestiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wants something that he can't have, right up until Castiel points out the flaw in that line of thinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	RSVP, ASAP

**Author's Note:**

> Written to accompany verucasalt123's ficlet [My Eyes are Green](http://verucasalt123.livejournal.com/158821.html).

Dean had the car parked off the highway, on the shoulder of a service road. He could see the lights of cars as they passed him by but he was hidden and safe in his isolation. He wondered how long he should stay away. Probably all night. Sam deserved to have some fun, and after all of the screwing around Dean has done over the years, he certainly couldn’t begrudge Sam from sexiling him occasionally. And Cas...

Well. Cas deserved to be having some fun of his own. Dean couldn’t think of two nerds more in need of having their shirts untucked and loosened up with a little horizontal time. He hoped they made each other happy. More than anything else, more than he hoped they cleaned up when they were done, more than he hoped that he never had to talk about this thing between them. More than he sulked inside at his own damn missed opportunity, he hoped that they could find something happy and good together.

Dean slouched down in his seat, jacket pulled tight around his body and his chin resting on his chest. He would sleep for a moment, and whenever he awoke he would head back to the motel. But he could probably manage an hour or two, probably longer given the time it would take him to fall asleep.

“You’re already asleep,” Castiel said beside him. Dean didn’t start at the angel’s presence, and that was how he knew that Castiel was telling the truth.

“You want to butt out and let a man get some shuteye then?” 

Castiel was watching the highway, and Dean wondered if his dreamscape matched the location in which he’d fallen asleep. “We wondered where you were.”

Dean frowned, couldn’t help it and hoped it was passed off as his usual winning personality. “Thought I’d let you two get some alone time.”

“You’ve been very considerate,” Castiel said agreeably.

“I’m a considerate guy,” Dean replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Also jealous,” Castiel added mildly, still apparently caught up in the thrilling nature of Dean’s unconscious scenery.

Dean considered denying it, but it was hard to blatantly lie to a guy who made a hobby of poking around inside his head. Dean considered saying a lot of things, but silence was so much safer.

“Sam wonders if he should apologise,” Castiel said, running his fingers over the leather between himself and Dean.

“He doesn’t have to apologise,” Dean replied, shifting, pressing himself against the driver’s side door.

“I know,” Castiel said simply. “That’s not what you want at all.”

It hung there in the air between them, that thing that Dean had never intended to admit, filling up every space between Dean and the door, Castiel and Dean, Castiel’s hands and the leather of the seat. Cream leather and tan trench coat and the human pink of Jimmy Novak’s long, handsome fingers. Dean forced his eyes away.

“Why are you here?”

“I... hm. Worry about you.” An odd pattern to Castiel’s voice. Castiel had moments of seeming more real in Dean’s dreams than in the real world. “I am your angel.” And the words sent a jolt through Dean, a languid easy hotness that was surprising and suffocating.

“You’re your own angel,” Dean replied, and Castiel laughed, a single quiet chuckle that felt honest and perfect in that tense moment that Dean wanted to escape from. And then Castiel’s eyes closed and he hummed, tilting his head to one side not in puzzlement but in an easy stretch, as if he were making space for someone to press their mouth against his throat. For Sam. For Sam to...

“Is there somewhere else you need to be?” Dean asked sharply.

“I’m already there,” Castiel replied lazily, but when his eyes opened they were bright and intense, hooded by love and lust and a hundred things that Dean had no right looking at.

“I meant Sam,” he said.

“So did I,” Castiel replied. 

It took a moment, but then the idea settled in, pressed into Dean’s brain and seeped into every crevice and train of thought as Dean looked over at Castiel, at the angle of his hips and the spread of his thigh, the way he slouched back against the seat rather than hunching forwards, opening his body up.

“Oh Jesus,” Dean said. “What are-? No, forget it, I don’t even want to know what you two are doing.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Does Sam know that you’re shooting the shit with me while he’s... whatever he’s doing?”

“Yes, he does.”

Dean looked away. Snorted, and glanced back at Castiel. “God you are weird.”

Castiel made an odd noise, a hitching of breath that sounded innately pleased. “Sam agrees with that assessment.”

“Cas, cut it out,” Dean snapped, but Castiel ignored him, tilted his head further back and rolled his hips up against nothing. His hand was on the seat between them, his fingers gripping and clenching, digging into the leather in a way that would no doubt tear into the seat were the car real. “Cas,” Dean hissed, grabbing Castiel’s wrist and pulling the angel’s hand up into the air, bent and grasping fingers dividing the air between them. “Why the hell are you here?” Dean demanded.

And then Castiel’s face was very close to his own. “Because you always leave,” was the murmured response, low and hard like a punch to the gut, a one-two of a painful assessment paired with Castiel’s mouth crashing against Dean’s own. Castiel licked into Dean’s mouth, hard and insistent, pressed Dean back against the door of the Impala and Dean twisted against the pressure, pressed chest against chest as Castiel moved over him, pinning him down despite Dean’s crushing grip on Castiel’s wrist.

“Do you like that?” Castiel asked, less than an inch between their faces, hot breath and a large seat and of course it was a dream. Of course.

“Who taught you to talk dirty?” Dean asked, one foot on the floor and one against the passenger door, his free hand pressing at Castiel’s hip but only managing to pull the angel closer.

“Sam,” Castiel replied immediately, before claiming Dean’s mouth again. “He’s unimpressed at your criticism considering, hm, yes. _Oh baby_.” Castiel kissed Dean again, deep and searing, straddled one of Dean’s thighs and rolled his hips against it. “Oh baby, oh baby.”

And Dean could hear Sam’s mocking voice in his head, but Castiel’s delivery was breathless and genuine. The contrast was jarring, and when Dean pulled away Castiel’s face stayed in place for a moment, his mouth open and his eyes closed, the smallest memory of a furrow between his eyebrows.

“You’re looking a little distracted there,” Dean commented. He was hard. Castiel was hard. Castiel was twenty minutes drive and a plane of consciousness away, making out with Dean’s little brother...

“Yes. Were I at full strength-”

“If you were your normal angel self, you wouldn’t be slumming it with us.”

Castiel smiled, his eyes still closed, his hips rocking slowly but insistently against Dean’s thigh. “And you refused to believe that God works in mysterious ways.”

“You think God wants this?”

“No,” Castiel replied, and his eyes finally opened, looked black and white in the oddly lit landscape of Dean’s dream. “I think you talk too much.” And then Castiel’s mouth was on his, Castiel’s hands were on him. Palms cupping the angle of a hip and fingers spreading over a cage of ribs. Castiel’s hardness against Dean’s thigh and Castiel’s thigh pressed hard against Dean’s cock. Castiel’s mouth biting at Dean’s lip, kissing along Dean’s jaw, sucking at Dean’s neck. 

“Cas,” Dean gasped.

“Sam,” Castiel moaned in agreement.

“What-?”

“This,” Castiel said, pressing his hand low on Dean’s stomach, running his thumb under the elastic of Dean’s underpants. “This is what Sam is doing to me.” He bit at Dean’s neck, licked the sharp row of pain, sucked hard against the line of Dean’s neck and then bit it again.

“Right,” Dean replied, his voice a little wrecked, his hands on Castiel’s body. The coat and jacket and shirt had gotten rucked up at some point. Dean’s hands were on hot, smooth skin and Dean was perversely glad that he couldn’t see it, couldn’t see what he was missing. “And you’re-”

“Making you feel good,” Castiel finished. He shifted his hand, cupping Dean’s hardness and everything was a press of heat and the smell of leather. “Letting you know what you could have.”

“Is this-,” Dean gave in, ground up against the perfect press of Castiel’s palm, “-what Sammy’s doing to you?”

“Yes,” Castiel hissed against Dean’s ear, biting at the lobe as long fingers gripped Dean through unforgiving denim. Castiel voice was low, and rough, and every bit as impossibly sexy as Dean had ever dreamed. “We’re on your bed.”

Dean moaned, bucked up against Castiel’s hand. “God you’re fucked up.” And he didn’t know which one of them he was talking about, or if it were both.

Castiel laughed again, a low chuckle and in it Dean could hear Sam’s own snort of amusement, could sense his brother in the roughness of Castiel’s grip, the possessive splay of hands.

“Isn’t it confusing?” Dean asked, a hand on Castiel’s ass and dragging the angel down, pressing them together shoulder to crotch, a tangle of legs and Dean thrusting up and Castiel rocking down. “Splitting yourself up?”

“No,” Castiel said before kissing Dean again, one of his own kisses this time, Dean thought. Slow and deep and curious and patient, not needing to break for air or the break to allow the tingles to fade before they overwhelmed. Dean wondered if anyone could kiss like this outside of a dream, wondered if this was the kind of kiss that pressed Sam back into pillows at night, was the prelude or the epilogue to the hard harsh sounds that Dean heard from afar. “There’s no split,” Castiel murmured as he pulled back. “No divide. Just me. And you. And Sam.”

Dean was panting, was sweating in his jacket and could feel the slickness of his own palms against Castiel’s back. Was he even dreaming anymore? Had he ever been? “And that,” he panted. “The three of us. That’s not confusing?”

Castiel pulled away, looked down at Dean with an expression that was so familiar it hurt – that cocked head, the furrow along his brow. Common confusion but it was tempered, shot through with an exasperated affection. “No,” he said. “It makes perfect sense.”

Another kiss, a simple press of lips against lips, Castiel’s mouth parting, pulling Dean’s lower lip between his teeth, a gentle tug and Dean honestly couldn’t tell if it were Castiel or Sam behind the motion, was so close to coming and so mixed up inside that he didn’t even know if he cared.

“You should come home,” Castiel said quietly to the darkness. And then the angel was gone. 

And then Dean woke up, stiff and cold and hard in the front seat of the Impala. He sat there, panting in the damp, pine scented air, taking note of the one hundred imperfections and annoyances that marked reality from fantasy. A truck passed on the highway, a heavy rumble and bright lights. Dean sat upright and his lower back creaked uncomfortably. The car smelled of angel. Dean’s mouth felt bruised.

He put the key in the ignition, and held his breath as the car roared to life. He’d given Sam the few hours with his angel, lived up to his intention. He pulled onto the highway, and pointed the car back towards town. The motel. Home.


End file.
